What if, for one day, we were to give up our religious labels? In my book, Inner Mastery, Outer Impact, I speak about the power of thought experiments. So let us conduct a thought experiment.

Let’s say you live in a country where there is this beautiful mountain with a towering peak, Mt. Mukti, that’s very hard to get to. Many people in your country wish to get there, to the top of Mt. Mukti. Some who have ascended all the way to the top become guides, helping others on their own hike. You take on the help of one of these guides, Rupa, and commence your quest to get to Mt. Mukti.

One day on your mountainous journey you encounter a hiker, Daniel. He’s on his way to Mt. Mukti as well.

“Who’s your guide?” you ask.

“Frederick,” he replies, and then asks, “And yours?”

“Rupa.”

“Tell me about Rupa,” he asks.

And so you tell him about the wonderful qualities of Rupa, the guidance you’ve received from her along the path you’ve taken — the scenic, north-facing route — to get to this resting point where you and Daniel have met. And you ask him about Frederick, and he tells you about how Frederick inspires him every day, and how he’s pointed him to a path — the more jungle-rich, south-facing route — that’s gotten him now to this resting place.

What would be the natural way for you to think of Daniel, and for Daniel to think of you? Would it be as “Rupa’s protege” and “Frederick’s protege”, or would the most natural way be to think of each other as fellow hikers? Would you not feel deeply bonded with each other and would you not cheer each other on in your quest, even though your path up to the peak is not the same as his? Would you not recognize that both of you are ultimately seeking the same thing — Mt. Mukti?

Well then, why do we call some of us Christians, some Muslims, some Hindus, some Buddhists, some Jews, and so on? Aren’t we all pilgrims, each on their own chosen path to what we see as self-realization?

In fact, wise men and women across the ages have never felt wholly comfortable in faith-based boxes and boundaries. Mother Teresa once shared, “I love all religions.” Loving all faiths does not mean that you should be disloyal to your faith. In fact, Mother Teresa’s more complete thought was this: “I love all religions, but I am in love with my religion.”

Gandhi described his faith this way: “It is the permanent element in human nature which leaves the soul restless until it has found itself, known its maker and appreciated the true correspondence between the maker and itself.” And, “For me different religions are beautiful flowers from the same garden or branches of the same majestic tree.”

Louis Fischer, Gandhi’s biographer, once noticed in Gandhi’s ashram that there was only one decoration on the mud walls of his hut: a black and white print of Jesus Christ with the inscription ‘He is our peace.’ When he quizzed Gandhi about it, Gandhi replied “I am a Christian and a Hindu and a Moslem and a Jew”. Further, “Looking at all religions with an equal eye, we would not only not hesitate but would think it our duty to blend into our faith every acceptable feature of other faiths.”

This may sound like a revolutionary idea, but this is the faith environment I witnessed growing up in India. In our schools and families, we were invited to devotionally drink from our own faith fountain, but to also gain insight and inspiration from other faiths. Whenever my family would pass by a mosque or gurdwara or monastery or church — not just a temple — it was natural for us to bow our heads out of respect for the Divine. In my adult years, as the world beyond India opened up to me, one of the fondest international travel traditions we’ve established as a family is to find a place of worship in whatever city or town we’re visiting — as long as it opens its doors to us — and sit inside for a few minutes in silent communion. It is by sitting devotionally in the small churches in the seaside villages of Italy’s Cinque Terre and in the monasteries of Kyoto that we have connected with the very soul of these places.

One of India’s most revered saints of modern times is Sri Ramakrishna, whose work led to the founding of the Ramakrishna Mission. For a period of time, this saint — a priest at a Hindu temple — fully embraced Christianity, taking on deep devotional practices of the faith. Then for a while, he became Muslim, taking on deep devotional practices of that faith. Later, he returned to his Hindu roots. He was trying to see, and to show, that all paths can take us to Mt. Mukti. Mukti is a Sanskrit word for liberation, or complete enlightenment.

I share this to offer a thesis.

Perhaps we can be in love with our faith — be it a religion or science or a certain philosophy, whatever it is for you — while also loving all faiths.

Perhaps we don’t have to think that our path is the only right path and people who are hiking up another path won’t make it to the top.

Perhaps we can stop thinking of each other as secular or Christian or Muslim or Hindu or Jew or Buddhist or atheist or more, because we’re all just brothers and sisters, seeking the same ultimate reward, making different assumptions and choices about what will get us there, and sitting together to share stories about our adventures whenever our paths cross on our way to the top.

Warmly,
Hitendra

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